


Cherry Bomb

by spockandawe



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: This breaking and entering thing is going well. Window jimmied. Alarm system sabotaged. Fix that before you go. Or tell someone to fix it before you go (realistically: try really really hard to remember to tell Peter that you broke his apartment security system) (oh who are you kidding, he’s a smart kid, starting companies, inventing inventions, all that jazz. it’ll befine).Once you’re inside and the window is shut (sorta) again, you say, “Peter?”Nothing. Honestly, not too surprising. A guy misses a couple straight days of heroing, his weirdly-spider-themed squad won’t give you any straight answers, obviouslysomethingis up. You’ve got the connections to mostly rule out a supervillain kidnapping scheme, unless, who knows, maybe someone transformed him into a hideous spider-beast and took him away for… you don’t know where you’re going with that, honestly. Probably he’s around, probably he’s not dead,probablyhe’s not kidnapped, and as long as you’ve already done the whole breaking and entering thing, you might as well follow through on the apartment check.





	Cherry Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/172366064531/cherry-bomb-spockandawe-marvel-comics)

You don’t mean much of anything when you go trying to track down Spider-Man. Peter Parker. Shit, that still feels weird. Knowing both those names is just— weird. Though, haha, kind of hypocritical of you, isn’t that, _Wade_ (but that’s not the same, both those names are _yours_ and it’s totally different when the names belong to someone else). But you know, it would have been so much more considerate if he’d changed his legal name to Spider-Man. Or if he’d come up with a convenient portmanteau for maximum convenience. Spider-Pete. Spider Parker.

...Peter-Man.

Oh look, you have successfully entertained yourself for the time it took to scale one (1) New York City apartment building. That is a useful metric, one you’ll definitely have to remember for the future. Next time you scale an apartment building, invent new superhero names for Peter Parker. Only him, won’t work for other heroes, the science won’t support it.

Probably you shouldn’t be doing the whole breaking and entering thing, but _also_ probably, it’s too dark for people at the street level to exactly what you’re doing. And for just an extra dose of probably, you’ve probably made a big enough nuisance of yourself that the average city resident isn’t going to think too much of Deadpool climbing all over city buildings and doing his mysterious Deadpool Things. It’s like the music pirating of superheroing. Technically illegal, but is anyone _really_ going to care enough to get on your case over this?

Annnd there we go. Window jimmied. Alarm system sabotaged. Fix that before you go. Or tell someone to fix it before you go (realistically: try really really hard to remember to tell Peter that you broke his apartment security system) (oh who are you kidding, he’s a smart kid, starting companies, inventing inventions, all that jazz. it’ll be  _fine_ ).

Once you’re inside and the window is shut (sorta) again, you say, “Peter?”

Nothing. Honestly, not too surprising. A guy misses a couple straight days of heroing, his weirdly-spider-themed squad won’t give you any straight answers, obviously _something_ is up. You’ve got the connections to mostly rule out a supervillain kidnapping scheme, unless, who knows, maybe someone transformed him into a hideous spider-beast and took him away for… you don’t know where you’re going with that, honestly. Probably he’s around, probably he’s not dead, _probably_ he’s not kidnapped, and as long as you’ve already done the whole breaking and entering thing, you might as well follow through on the apartment check.

Of course, maybe he didn’t hear you? God, this apartment is bigger than any house you ever owned. How much space does a guy need? You’re going to wear yourself out with all this looking. It takes at _least_ five whole seconds to stick your head through a door and check that there’s nobody in a room. You’re going to burn out if you don’t learn to pace yourself.

When you reach the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Peter himself, but there are some signs of human(?) life. You mean, you assume human. Most animals don’t use stoves, and you… _think_ most of them don’t bother with dishes, really. Ugh, you’re just wasting time now, you can afford to be a _little_ straightforward in the privacy of your own head. Someone’s been in the kitchen, didn’t clean up, doesn’t seem much like Peter, but let’s be real, nobody likes doing dishes.

You try again. “Peter?” Still no answer, but you hear a vague movement-ish noise from down the hallway.

And this looks promising, here’s a room with light showing under the door (good), and you’ve been… making home intruder noises when they can’t see you to confirm it’s just their friendly neighborhood Deadpool-Man (less good).

Oh well, you can recontextualize that as Darkly Mysterious (And Kinda Romantic) behavior later, instead of it just being super creepy. For now you just settle for knocking, and trying the name thing one more time. “Pete?”

Success! Or by success, you mean there was a noise. Not a words-noise, more of vague-undefined-shuffling noise, but you’ll take what you can get. You kind of would like some words to happen, though, so you knock again. But no name this time around, you’re mixing things up, keeping it fresh.

The vague shuffling seems like it gets closer to the door, and your perseverance is rewarded with an entire word of response. “Who…?”

Hmm _mmm_. He does sound kind of out of it. Kinda bleary. You didn’t think he was sick, but maybe you were wrong? And oh, surprise, your mouth started running while you were distracted. “It’s me. Wadepool. _Deadpool._ Wilson. No, hold on, starting over. It’s Wade. Though now that I’m thinking of it, Dead Wade would be kind of amazing—”

The door swings open, and you have about half a second to register that Peter looks fairly not-great, a bit dizzy, a lot exhausted, with a _pinch_ of feverish. And then the scent hits you.

More literally than that sounds. It just about knocks you off your feet, just a wave of pure pheromones, straight to the face. You back away two steps back before you catch what you’re doing and force yourself to stop. Though you’re not even sure Peter noticed. He’s swaying a bit and leaning on the door frame, and his eyes don’t seem to be quite focusing properly on you.

You brace yourself and take another breath. You don’t know why you bothered. Even if you didn’t know intellectually what this was, your body is making it very,  _very_ clear to you that this is an alpha in rut.

Yeah, that’s not ideal. This is. Hm. Not a good situation. You’ve got your answer, Peter Parker is not patrolling the streets right now because he’s laid up with _this_. No wonder he doesn’t want to be out and about. The stress of being around so many people when he’s strung this tight, that would be bad enough, but if he ran into any omegas just about to head into a heat (or coming off the tail end of one), he’d be a downright hazard. Shit, and that’s without even considering anyone he’d have to fight. This is… yeah. Not good.

You lean against the wall across from him and do your best to look casual. “Rut, huh?” _Articulate._

Peter just nods. He looks kind of dizzy already, and you feel a little tiny stab of guilt for keeping him standing. But the bed— Ha, _no._ You’ve got a handle on your self-control now, but heading over to his bed, where he’s been lying and sleeping and— Just the thought makes you shiver, though you try not to let it show. The pheromones have to be even thicker over there, thick enough to _taste_ —

And Peter hasn’t said anything else. Aw, fuck. He is _really_ out of it, and you’re not helping. You say, “Funny, I thought this was supposed to be pretty uncommon. Like, usually it’s the other way around. Not usually an alpha getting in this situation unless—”

“Unless it’s been too long without—” he says, and loses track of his sentence. He wobbles for a moment, but tries to rally and manages, “Without. Or. Whatever. Just… too long.”

You nod along with his words. God, from this close you can really see him swaying. “How long is too long? Out of curiosity. I mean, no obligation to tell, don’t mind me, I’m rude, et cetera. But if you don’t mind me being rude, I mean. Doubt you want this to happen again.” His face looks blank. That’s probably fair, you’re not being very coherent. One more try. “If you don’t mind me being rude, have you thought about how often you’ll need to get down and dirty to stop this from happening again? And you should know that I _really_ wanted to say you’ll get ‘jiggy with it,’ I gave up that rare opportunity for your sake and I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make—”

Peter is blinking slowly, his face blank, and you force yourself to apply the brakes. For a moment, you think he didn’t understand but then he says, “Don’t know. Haven’t.”

There’s a little pause while you wait for that to become an actual sentence, but it doesn’t. And you know you’re missing words, but there’s only one way you can really get that to make sense, so you try, “Haven’t ever… gotten jiggy with it?”

Your noble sacrifice didn’t even last for two sentences. Wow.

Peter manages, “Never,” but then he has to stop. For a moment you think he’s going over, but he manages to lean into the wall instead. His eyes are tight shut and his forehead pressed against the wood of the doorframe.

At least it gives you a moment to think. One little moment, before he keels over altogether. Since you’ve got a little bit of mask-based privacy to take advantage of, you let yourself chew on your bottom lip.

It’s not really an issue of— of what you _want._ Your body is making it plenty clear what it _wants._ You can’t really stick around for much longer without that being an issue. You really oughta be making a decision and fucking off for however long it takes Peter to deal with this. Kinda— basic decency. That thing you know about. That thing you can do.

Except that Peter looks miserable, completely miserable and exhausted, and he can barely even focus on you. He’s sweaty and breathing hard, but not— not in a _hot_ way, just in a way that makes you feel guilty for seeing him like this. You’re not looking down at his pajama pants because you know what you’ll be able to see, and he doesn’t deserve that kind of intrusion from you. His shirt though, it’s old and thin and the collar’s stretched out far enough you can see most of his shoulders and you can just imagine how he’d taste and fffff _uck._

Hands behind your back, Wade. You fix your eyes somewhere over on the far side of the room, make sure you _aren’t_ going to move in on him, standing at something like, ha, parade rest. You put the rest of your energy into keeping your voice steady. “Look, Pete, I want you to know there’s no pressure and if you want me to leave then just say the word and I’m _gone,_ out of here, won’t see me until you’re back on the streets. But if. If you wanted someone to help you out here, just, just a quick— Not meaning anything, no obligations or whatever, _definitely_ no kids, not worried about my honor or you making an honest woman of me, none of that—”

You’re not making sense. You lose your train of thought every other word, trying to work past the pheromones. Peter’s watching you, and it’s a struggle not to move forward and just let him _take_ you, so little distance separating you from him, and why are you even waiting for an answer at all? You close your eyes behind the mask so you can’t look at the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. The way he’s breathing just a hair too fast. The way his lips are just a little bit parted. _Fuck._

You swallow hard. “If you want me to help you past this. Just say the word. If not, I’ll fuck right the hell off and stop making this harder than it already is.”

There’s a few moments of silence. Long enough that you force your eyes open again. Peter’s watching you and you can’t really read his face. Honestly… did he hear you? Understand you? He might not have. He is _super_ out of it. Although this is totally your best chance to take a hint graciously and back off. While you’re still trying to convince yourself to do that, Peter is still watching you, and you see him unconsciously lick his lips. _God._

He finally speaks up. “You’re—?”

Your better judgment doesn’t catch up enough for you to stop yourself from saying, “Single?”

“No, you’re—” He waves one vague hand around in a way that he seems to think is descriptive (it’s pretty adorable). “You’re—”

 _Oh._ “An omega?” And yes, _christ_ yes, you’re standing right here seeing and smelling him, and you can’t remember the last time you felt as much of an omega as _this._

Peter’s still watching you. Still swaying. But you can see it on his face the moment your not-actually-an-answer starts to register with him and he begins to see you, really _see_ you. “Oh,” he breathes.

You’re still holding yourself off as well as you can. Consent. That’s a thing. A thing that matters. You know it matters, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember that the longer you stand here. Luckily, Peter solves the issue for you by pushing off the doorframe and lurch-stumbling across the hall, and not so much reaching out to you as running into you head-on. It takes you by surprise, not that you’re running on all cylinders to begin with, and it ends with him pushing you up against the wall, his whole body pressed against yours ( _god,_ that’s good), clumsily kissing at the general vicinity of your mouth through your mask. It’s pretty much perfect.

Despite the enthusiasm, his hands aren’t as much all over you as you’d want them to be, kind of just bunched up against your chest, and you remember with a sudden flash that he hasn’t done this before. At least not with an omega, though you’d be willing to bet money that he hasn’t done it with anyone period. You need to take this slow, you’re _going_ to, you swear. But just for the moment, you can’t resist pressing a thigh between his legs, and reaching around to grab his ass and hitch his hips up against you. The way he moans against your mouth is sinfully good, and you’re already desperate for more, desperate to see what other noises you can coax out of him, to see what he looks like when he’s _in_ you, when he ties you, all of it—

Honestly, you’d let him take you right here, right against the wall. He breaks away from the not-quite a kiss before you do, and drops his head to the crook of your shoulder. He takes a deep breath, smelling you, practically burrowing into your neck, and _god_ that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. His hips are still working against your leg, little tiny jerks and twitches that you think are him doing his best to to hold still. You can't resist pulling him up against you again, just to feel the way he grinds down on your thigh, and the full-body shudder that runs through him.

But he pulls away a little further, takes a step back away from you. It feels colder than it should, not having his body pressed up against yours. He still doesn’t look very steady, but he’s got a look of _focus_ in his eyes now that sends heat coiling in your gut. This still doesn’t feel quite real, but you can’t look away from him.

And he’s not up against you anymore. That’s— no good. That’s not ideal. You don’t want less of him, you want _more,_ you want him in you and using you, and his knot tying you together so tightly you feel like you’re just an extension of his body.

He looks like he wants that too, so you’re not sure why he’s… going. He takes another half step away and looks back over his shoulder, and you brace yourself. Okay. Okay then. That yes was not a yes. He’s saying no now, and you’ve got to step up and respect that. Just hold onto that thing you call self-control for a minute longer, and then get out of here and find a different way to scratch the itch. You’ve got this.

Yeah, you end up being so focused on that self-control thing that you you miss it when he reaches down to grab your hand and pull you towards him. You practically trip over your own feet, which is a nice pretty parallel for the way your brain is tripping over its feet right now too.

The best you manage is, “Pete?” Still as articulate as ever!

His cheeks are already flushed, but you can see it when he really _blushes,_ the red spreading over his face and down his neck. He says, “The bed,” and pauses, going even redder as the silence stretches out. He finishes in a mumble, “If I’m going to do this right—”

He does want this. And that is a rush of relief, but also, you’re grinning so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “Do it right? Are you gonna sweep me off my feet and romance me until I swoon and ravage me right there in your very own bed?” He’s looking away from you now, tugging you across the room, but you can see his ears going red. Your voice drops down quiet and low, and maybe you could even manage genuinely _seductive_ if you weren’t trying not to laugh. “Pete, promise, I’ll feel just as romanced and ravaged even if you pinned me down and fucked me right through the floor.”

Oh man, that almost makes him stumble. You won’t lie, you _kind_ of want to see how embarrassed you can get him, but whoops, you’ve already arrived at destination: bed. He turns to look at you, and that blush hasn’t faded at all, and now most of what you want is to tear off his shirt to see just how far down the red goes.

He says, “I know you’re just trying to be difficult.”

 _Who, me? Never!_ Is what you start to say, except then it gets buried in the way he takes your face in his hands and drags you in to kiss you again. Mostly kiss. There’s still a bit of mask in the way, but both of you are trying _really_ hard despite that little issue. Your brain has run out of processing power for problem-solving (and your hands are busy with Peter’s ass again. What can you say? You’re a man of simple tastes, and there’s really no ass like superhero ass).

When Peter starts fumbling for the edge of your mask, it takes you a minute to realize that’s what he’s trying to do. And once you realize, you do try to help him. Really, you do! But you think the only thing less productive than one distracted person and two shaky hands is _two_ distracted people and _four_ shaky hands. With both of you pressed so close together you can’t see what you’re doing of course. And without breaking the almost-kiss, that would just be silly.

Somehow you do eventually manage it. Peter gets a grip on the edge and starts to drag the whole thing off, though you manage to catch his hands and disentangle his fingers before he gets it more than halfway up your face. He doesn’t push it when you move his hands down to your waist, though that might have something to do with the way you can actually kiss and taste each other now. You’re a little distracted with how fucking _good_ it feels when he shoves his tongue into your mouth, and the way your body is screaming alpha alpha _alpha_ every time he so much as moves or breathes.

It’s distracting enough you don’t notice him trying to steer you actually _onto_ the bed. You don’t have a clue until your legs hit the mattress, and Pete’s still leaning hard into you, and you _maybe_ totally lose your balance and tip over. Peter lands on you (not too painful) and his teeth hit yours (slightly more painful), but neither of you pauses for more than a half moment. He’s trying to apologize, you think, but the words are mumbled and gasped through the kiss, and most of his attention right now is taken up with grinding down against your leg.

You’re helpful! You get two big generous handfuls of Spider-Ass and drag him down harder against you. He’s not even kind of managing words anymore, and he’s not really doing much kissing either at this point, just moaning against your mouth and breathing hard and ragged. His pajama pants aren’t thick at all, and you think you can feel every line of his cock against your thigh every time he moves. God, you kind of want to finish him right here, just like this, right in his pants, just to see how good he looks when he comes. But in the middle of a rut, it’s only going to frustrate him. Maybe later, after he takes the edge off. If there is a later? No, _nope,_ don’t worry about that for now, just take this as it happens.

Yeah, okay, you can stop worrying about getting everything _you_ want and start letting him deal with the actual problem. You reluctantly release the Spider-Ass from police custody and let him pull away, though he doesn’t go far, just far enough to slip a hand down between you. He reaches between your legs and palms your cock, and ahh, _fuck,_ you can’t stop yourself from arching up into that touch. You want this, you want _him,_ and the way your body is screaming for an alpha to fuck you and fill you is making every moment of this so much more intense.

“Pants,” you say. “Need to— Probably can’t screw a hole through my pants—” Goddammit, that thought should not sound so hot. But now you can’t stop wondering who’s super-durable enough to have a cock that can punch through leather ( _not the time,_ you need to focus).

Peter pulls back a little further, and looks down at you, and _god,_ you don’t know if he realizes he’s gliding his fingers over your hips as he looks for how to undo your suit, but it sure is driving you crazy. Your hands are a tiny bit unsteady as you go for the zippers and fasteners. _So many zippers and fasteners._ Why did you design your suit this way? Is it to defend your honor?? Because right now this is kind of feeling like the worst chastity device you could possibly have inflicted on yourself.

Once Pete starts seeing where you’ve cunningly concealed your zippers, he helps out, and it’s not too long before he has to back away so you can wriggle out of your pants— Only for them to get caught on your boots. God fucking dammit. All you can do at first is stare helplessly at your feet, and the two of you share a frozen, silent moment, but Peter laughs, you can’t stop yourself from doing the same, and you’re still laughing helplessly as he pulls your boots off and you finally kick off your pants. Do you have anything in your pockets that will explode if you drop it? You give up on memory and decide to figure it out by tossing your pants over the edge of the bed.

You try to go for your briefs after that (of all the days to _not_ go commando—), but Peter’s already back on top of you, straddling your legs and working his hands up under the edge of your shirt. Okay, first, his hands on your bare skin? _Yes please,_ more of that, right away. But also—

Hmm. You do your best to distract him by going for his shirt instead. And he lets you do that, but immediately goes back to trying to get his hands under yours again. You’re still flipping through potential excuses for why not to do that, trying to pick one, but— fuck, he found your zipper. You lost your subtlety window.

Yeah, you just catch his hands and say, “Don’t worry about it,” and try to move him down to… your briefs? His pants? Anything else?

He’s still not very steady, but he manages to shift forward far enough that he can bend forward and kiss you again, open-mouthed and sloppy. His breathing is still ragged, but instead of him being unable to focus, it feels like he’s so intensely focused on you that it makes you shiver. Also you can feel his cock against yours through his pants, rubbing up against you every time he moves. So there’s that.

But his hands are also fumbling for your shirt zipper again. Before you can stop him again, he breaks the kiss just enough to manage, “Wade, please—” Oops, time for a pause while he kisses you again. “Can I— Want to see you, want to _touch_ you—”

Ahh, fuck. No he doesn’t, really, but it’s sweet that he would say so. You catch his hands again and start to draw them away. “Pete, you don’t need to—”

“ _Wade.”_ Oh _jesus,_ his voice. Just that much sends a rush of heat down between your legs. He’s not pushing it, but he’s not letting you move his hands either. He sits up just a little and looks down at you so seriously that you feel a little… trapped. “Wade,” he repeats. “I want to. Can I?”

A big part of you wants to say no. Not as big a part as before, maybe? With him sitting and watching you this way. Yeah, you go ahead and say, “Sure,” and hope your voice doesn’t sound the way it feels.

You shut your eyes so you don’t have to watch him as he unzips your shirt, but that’s almost worse, because now there’s just that much less to distract you from everything else you can still sense about how he’s reacting. His hips have been rocking against yours, but you feel him lean into you that much more as he runs his fingers up over your stomach. His breathing, the way his weight shifts, there’s too much for you to pay him attention to, and you reach up to grab his hips and pull him against you even harder, just to give you something else to focus on. And the _scent—_

Your body is slow to respond, since you’re not coming into this off anything close to heat (and because of the way your own personal biology is fucked), but _god_ are you starting to respond. Pete pushes your shirt open and bends down over you, shoving the fabric to the sides while he kisses you, hot and sloppy. He tastes like alpha, _smells_ like pure alpha. You _need_ that, and your junk is slowly starting to catch up with the rest of you. You’re hard, hard is easy, but you can feel the heat building down between your legs and you can feel your underwear damp against you every time you shift. Peter feels so good against you, but you need him between your legs, _in_ you.

On the other hand, Pete is more occupied with trying to push your shirt off while you’re lying flat on your back, and he can’t break the laws of undressing physics unless he wants to straight-up rip the shirt off your body (bad idea) _(yes please)._ You try to nudge him upright, just looking for enough space that you can shrug it off. Peter’s a little slow to pick up on why you’re nudging him away and makes a muffed, wordless noise of protest that almost shatters your determination—but no, you will not be thwarted in your quest to be more naked— though he finally gets the idea, rocking back on his heels, absently licking his lips, and looking dazed and _hungry._

It only takes you a moment to shimmy out of your shirt and toss it over the side of the bed (if your pants didn’t explode, your shirt _probably_ won’t), but that’s enough time for Peter to realize you’re still wearing your briefs and hook his fingers into your waistband to drag them over your hips and off your body. You can’t hold back a full-body shiver. Oh yes, this is a good plan.

You spread your legs a little, leaning back on one elbow, waiting for him. But he hesitates. You’re confused at first, and you should be able to think faster than this, but in your defense the way he smells and looks and tastes and sounds is _really_ distracting. But he’s looking between your legs with his face slowly going red, and he reaches out almost without thinking to rest one hand on each of your knees.

Then he looks up at you and says, “Would you like me to—?”

Fuck you? Tie you? Screw you through the mattress? All of the above, yes please, definitely. You’re not sure how that’s even a question, which makes you wonder why he’d even be asking that and if maybe he’s trying to get at something else that you’re missing. You don’t know what that would be, but? You’re still not managing an answer while you try to figure out the question, and the silence goes on just long enough to be awkward.

Peter’s going red out to the tips of his ears. He looks down from your face, back between the legs, and just barely manages, “I could use… my mouth?”

 _God._ You can feel that reaction all through your whole body. _Yes. Absolutely._ Except— That’s not what’s going to help him now, it’s very gentlemanly of him to offer to eat you out and fuck, fuck, _god,_ you need to stop thinking about it. But for now— “Maybe later?” Hopefully later. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, you _need_ to experience that later.

But for the moment, he lets you urge him back over you, and he kisses you again while you blindly try to push his pants down over his ass. Forward planning is not your forte. But he manages to kick them off without having to break away from the kiss, and now you’re pressed body to body, your legs parted around his hips, you can practically _feel_ his cock in you already— And he hesitates again.

Barely hesitates. He’s so close right now, he’s _so fucking close,_ you feel him against you and try to wriggle down get him _inside_ you, but it doesn’t do much good with him lying on top of you. He pushes back away from the kiss, one arm braced across your chest. You can see him breathing hard and flushed red, and he sways for a moment before you put your hands up on his waist to steady him. His forehead is wrinkled like he’s trying to concentrate, and if you open your mouth right now all you’re going to say is _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me so hard I can’t breathe,_ so you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to give him a chance to figure it out.

“Wade, do you—” He gets a couple words out and loses whatever he was trying to say. His hips rock against you, and his cock is rubbing against you so good and perfect and tortuous. You can’t figure out what he’s getting at and you’re not even the one in rut, you don’t know how he’s managing to string two thoughts together. He tries again. “Babies. We can’t—” He rocks against you again, and almost whimpers. “Do you have—?”

 _Oh._ That. Yeah, that’s enough to knock you out of the moment far enough to think.

It’s not a big deal. You’re sterile— probably? That’s a big probably. But after a guy goes through so much medical bullshit and mutation nonsense that fucks up all sorts of other basic bodily functions, it’s not much surprise that the heats just... stopped coming. Not a total guarantee someone couldn’t knock you up, but hey, that’s why you make sure you always have some morning after pills at hand, even before you worry about stocking up on painkillers. There’s no baby out there that deserves everything that would come with being _your_ kid.

Out loud, you just say, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got the meds—”

That’s all you have time for before he’s on you again, his mouth smashed messily against yours, making muffled, desperate little noises as he grinds down against you. Not quite in you, not yet, and you’re reminded that on top of the rut, he’s still _new_ to this, and you manage to work one arm down between you and get a hand on his cock. You stay like that for just a moment, you’ve been feeling _plenty_ of this thing since he started kissing you, but that’s not the same as really _feeling_ it. You wish you could get a good look at it, but, ha, like hell you’re hitting the brakes right now. For the moment, you just wrap your fingers around his cock and guide him into you.

 _Big,_ god, he’s so big and— _perfect._ You knew that, before, but it’s different with him _inside_ you. You’re not— not as ready as you could be, maybe. Your junk is still catching up to the rest of you, you guess it hasn’t been that long. It’s hard to tell if time is passing when there’s a heat or a rut getting to your head like this. Or maybe it’s medical shenanigans, who even knows anymore. Could’ve used a little time to get yourself ready is the point, but it’s hard to even slow down enough to care about that. It’s too much too soon, but you don’t even care with how he _fills_ you.

You’re making some pretty embarrassing noises yourself, you’re pretty sure, but you’re floating so far outside your own head by now that you don’t think you have real control over anything you’re doing. You manage to tangle your legs around Pete’s so there’s absolutely positively no chance in hell that he’ll pull away _now,_ and he moans in an agreement-sounding sort of way into your mouth.

And you can feel his knot. _God_ can you feel it. It doesn’t take long for that to start up, and you’re still aching in the best way as you try to adjust to just Peter’s cock, but the pressure of his knot as it swells is the best thing you’ve ever felt. You lose track of the kiss, very nearly lose track of your own extremely clever running commentary, and your head falls back on the bed as you gasp for air.

Peter’s still slumped over you, mouthing at your neck as his hips rock into you. It’s less thrusting once the tie starts up, but his hips are still grinding into you in tight little circles. Every little movement shifts his knot inside you, and the pressure feels too perfectly intense, so good it’s almost impossible to breathe.

And you think it’s helping him out too. You don’t know as much about ruts as heats, obviously, so you could be making this up, but he seems less frantic, less mindlessly desperate and out of control. You shift your hips, and he moves easily with you, and yes, _yes,_ this tie is here to stay until things resolve, and you are _more_ than ready to keep moving things right along. You want to feel him finish inside you, you want to watch his face when he comes and hear the noises he makes, you want to lie here pressed together basking in that sexy, sexy afterglow while his knot slowly, slowly goes down. If that’s even the end of the rut, that isn’t always the case.

Of course, when Pete pushes himself up, away from you, you have to update that assessment a little. He’s still looking a little feverish, his eyes just a _tiny_ bit glazed and unfocused. Probably not the time to ask for much critical thinking from him. Which makes you want to, jesus christ you want to see him trying to solve math problems like this, but _probably_ you won’t be able to introduce homework to the bedroom. This time. Pete does look a little less unsteady now, though, a little more in control of himself, even though you know the rut is more in control than anything else.

He kneels between your legs, still moving against you. Your legs are still locked tight around his waist. He reaches around your back to hike you up against him, and you suck in a gasp of air at how that shifts his knot inside you, but his eyes flutter shut too, and he makes a soft little noise.

And then he reaches up to brush one hand over your cheek and smiles down at you so open and genuine you feel a sharp stab of guilt. You shouldn’t be here. Or shouldn’t be doing this without his mask on, _something—_ But before you can chase that train of thought too far, he says, “Our babies— They’ll be so strong, so _clever—”_

Ah. Like a bucket of cold water to the soul. You’d forgotten about that part of things. Ruts, huh? Yeah, you’ll take a nice simple heat any day, thank you very much. A heat will get to you for sure, but it’s easy enough to adjust to, just a part of the routine. Nothing like how bad a rut will hit an alpha.

You manage, “They sure will,” and definitely don’t say anything to remind him about that time two seconds ago when he asked if you had birth control.

He doesn’t notice how strangled your voice is, because he just smiles even wider, all trusting and _happy,_ and you really hope he’s lucky enough to forget about this part of things in the morning.

For now, you just say, _“Kiss_ me, big boy,” and drag him back down to you before he can say anything else.

He does kiss you, which is extremely excellent all on its own, but he also shifts his weight and rolls you both so you’re lying on your side, and then he takes the opportunity to get a hand on your cock. _Oh,_ that’s good. Nothing, _nothing_ is as important right now as the pressure of his knot inside you, but you’re still not going to say no to a little something extra. And you can’t get enough of the way his whole hand covers your cock so easily, so there’s nothing but _Pete,_ his fingers on every last bit of you, thumbing at your tip as he rocks against you.

You’re not going to last long like this, but you kind of think you’ll still be able to last longer than Peter will. His eyes are shut now, and he’s lost track of the kiss. His mouth is kind of pressed against yours, but mostly he’s just gasping for air and mumbling little things about _please,_ and _yes._ You could watch this forever, except that no, that is a bit of an exaggeration, you’re ready (desperate) to _come._ You’re just determined to push Pete over the edge before you give in.

And sure, you have no idea what he likes and he’s in no position to communicate coherently with you, but it’s time for experimenting! You’re just an innocent researcher, making a formal study of Peter Parker. Which means that you reach in between you and pinch one of his nipples.

He makes a sharp, shocked noise that sends a burst of heat between your legs, and he curls forward against you so that his forehead rests on your shoulder. You can feel the desperation in him again, in how fast hes breathing and the way his hips move against yours. When you rub your thumb over his nipple, he moans, and his hips jerk against you, but it’s not _quite_ enough. Your other arm is trapped under you and you’re running short on available limbs, so experimentally, you bend your head forward and set your teeth against his neck.

You barely bite down at all, but there you go, that does it. You could guess he was coming from the way he cries out and curls even harder into you, but you can _feel_ it, feel the heat inside you as he comes, and _god,_ you’ll never get tired of how good that is. He’s still got one hand on your cock, his grip just a little too tight, but all the better for that, trying so hard to keep his rhythm going. His hand around you is tight enough it edges close to hurting, his pace is erratic and unsteady, but it’s just so perfect with the unforgiving, unrelenting pressure of his knot in you, and it’s enough that you tip over the edge while he’s still shaking the way through his orgasm.

Even then, you still manage to pull yourself together before Peter does. Not that much of a surprise, really, with the rut. He’s rolled on top of you again, and you’re not sure when that happened, but you are more than fine with this situation. He’s done coming, but he’s still shivering, pressed up so close it’s hard to breathe. You can still feel his knot in you, but in a nice, cozy sort of way, less of an urgent, desperate way.

When he lifts his head from your shoulder, it takes you a moment too long to figure what’s up. He’s kissing you is what’s up, and yes, _absolutely,_ you’re on board with this plan. And he kisses you just as deep and hard as you could want. He reaches up to cup the side of your face, or that’s what you _think_ he’s doing— Because again, you’re a little too slow to catch up when he starts fumbling with the edge of your mask, and before you’ve processed what’s going on, he’s pushed your mask off the top half of your face, and off your head entirely.

You try to protest, but your mouth is a little occupied right now, so you don’t think you do a great job of communicating your point. But then even when you manage to pull back a little ways, all you can see is Pete grinning down at you again. Still with some of that rut-induced glaze in his eyes, still not totally with it, and christ. You’re not going to be the asshole who rains on his parade right now. You’ll put that back on when he gets distracted. Ruts are no fun for anybody, except for the parts where they _definitely_ are.

His knot is starting to go down now, not enough to break the tie, but you’ve got limited time left for mandatory post-coital cuddles. Though all things considered— When you look Peter over, he’s definitely doing better, but you don’t think this will be a one and done deal. First rut, probably his first _time,_ and he’s spent how many days trying to weather this on his own? You never had to worry about this stuff yourself, but your very formal scientific assessment is that maybe you’ll be able to leave by tomorrow.

Wait, no. Getting ahead of yourself. One round doesn’t necessarily mean anything about multiple rounds. And that was the worst of it, everything should be easier from here. Though if you’re going to make a break for it, you’re going to have a pretty narrow window to do it, after the tie breaks, but before the rut gets a good grip on him again.

And while you’ve been running your internal monologue, Peter’s knot has gone down enough that he shifts backwards and his cock slips out of you. You tense, getting ready to read the room and maybe make a graceful _(ha)_ exit, but Peter just sighs and settles back down, lying on your chest. His cheek is smooshed against your nipple. Honestly, he looks like he’s about to go to sleep more than anything else. Has he been sleeping much? He might not have, depending how long this has been going on.

You nudge him in the shoulder. “Pete. Peter. Spider-Pete. Wake up.”

He makes a noise that’s not really words and doesn’t budge. You push your way up onto one elbow, but he just moves with you.

“Come on, Petey. What’s next? You’re my tour guide on this sexy little adventure— Or am I the tour guide and you’re my customer? Bad analogy, forget it ever happened. Tell me what’s the object of your heart’s desire. Shower? Sleep? Food?”

His eyes open—slowly—and he looks like he’s trying to think about it. Aw, that is _adorable._ He yawns, and it makes you think of a kitten. A big muscley, sweaty kitten.

Ah, there go his eyes, managing the focus thing. He looks at you and sits upright, only swaying a tiny bit. “Food,” he starts, and trails off. He shakes his head and tries again. “Food— I can cook for you. Sorry, should’ve— My kitchen is this way, follow me.”

He stands… and he just about goes over. Fortunately, you were expecting just that exact thing to happen, and are already moving to catch him. You wince a little at the ache between your legs, but it’s a good wince. And that ache is already fading, just a good memory more than anything. He’s a little slow to find his feet, and he still ends up leaning heavily on your arm, but he looks so gosh-darned determined that you let him go for it instead of nudging him back onto the bed.

You try, “I can find you food.”

The look he gives you is puzzled, and you’re not sure why, until he says, “No, you’re— I’m not making a guest cook for me. Or himself. If you’re going to stay, I can—” He pulls up short there, and you can see the tips of his ears going pink. “If you were planning to stay? Not that you need to, I should be, um. I should be fine, if you needed to go, I’m already feeling better...”

His voice trails off into nothing and his face is bright red, and you go ahead and break the awkward silence. “I can stay.”

Weak, _weak,_ that’s the best you can do? But you guess it’s enough, because Peter grins, and you can feel him relax against you. He steps away from you a little, but his hand is still on your arm, tugging you along with him. He says, “Good, that’s— good. Thank you. Also. I think I forgot to say—” Honestly, you’re kind of curious to see just how red his face can get, but he looks away, coughs, and starts again. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll see what I can scrape together before things get— intense again.”

You catch yourself grinning too, and it’s much too easy to let him take you by the arm, and lead you out of the bedroom, and his hand stays on you as the two of you walk together out through the doorway and down the hall to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/172366064531/cherry-bomb-spockandawe-marvel-comics)


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